On That Starry Night
by Seventh Sage
Summary: After more than a thousand years, two Seraphims return to the world, to discover the previous heroes all dead. They, all the heroes, make a wish to the Goddess Martel, to have a chance to live without regrets. AU, Yaoi, Yuri
1. You Gave Up Eternity

Heeeeeeeee, another ficcy! ::grins::

Mmmm, I'm sure people don't want to hear me ramble in the A/Ns, even if I like doing it. :;sweatdrop:: So, I'll make this brief and labeled.

Disclaimer: I don't own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters.

Spoiler Warning: Lotsa spoilers! Lotsa lotsa looooooooootsa! XD In other words, you shouldn't read it until you've beaten the game. But then again, only the first chapter has spoilers. But you can't read the other chapters _unless_ you've read the first one. O.o (See what I mean about rambling?)

Pairing Warning: Yaoi and yuri pairings! It will eventually be Kratos/Lloyd, Mithos/Genis, Sheena/Colette, and Regal/Presea. If you don't like them (especially the Kratos/Lloyd), you really don't have to read it…

Summary: More than a thousand years has passed, and Kratos and Yuan have finally returned to Sylvarant/Tethe'alla, only to find Lloyd dead. Kratos made a wish to the Goddess Martel for a chance to re-live his life, without mistakes, without regrets, not knowing all the heroes have asked for the same. Now, they are reborn, in a new world. But, as many have said, history repeats itself…

Inspiration and explanation of title: The main inspiration is the song "Vincent", by Don McLean. The title is derived from one line in the song, "And when no hope was left in sight on that starry, starry night/ You took your life as lovers often do…" Does the fic have anything to do with the song at all? No. It just makes me think of Kratos, that's all. O.o Also, the titles are kinda, um, connected. So you read it as, "On that starry night… you gave up eternity". And the next chapter would be "On that starry night… whatever the next chapter's title is". Yes, got it? Good.

Dedication: Kukki-chan! For making me a Kratos-obsessed fangirl. XD And for RPing K/L with me. Thankies for everything, and hope you enjoy the fic!

Eh, right. On to the fic!

-----

…You Gave Up Eternity

He gazed at the screen, his garnet eyes transfixed, unable to bear the sight, unwilling to tear his eyes away. The fabled magitechnology lay here, at his fingertips, on this enormous planet populated by none but two men. Such a blessing, it was, to view the events upon the new world that had been Sylvarant and Tethe'alla… and such a curse. He wondered, sometimes, if it would perhaps have been better to have lived with his curiosity.

"Brooding about that world again?" a familiar voice asked. "Is it not going well?"

He did not turn, did not bother trying to see who it was. There were only the two of them here, after all. And now, even after their millennia, each saving the other multiple times, their polite dislike for one another had not diminished one bit, had never gone beyond a reluctant friendship.

"The _world_ is doing fine. However…" He hesitated, aware of his unspoken comment. _However, my precious son is dying._

The other nodded in understanding, a gesture felt rather than seen. "He _is_ human after all, Kratos. Even with your Seraphim blood in him, he can but live the lifespan of the elves. And even elves… are not eternal."

"No. Only we are." He closed his dark crimson eyes, the images shown by the screen burned into his mind. "We… with this curse of immortality." He looked up at his companion, and his next words were bitter. "The mana has too long settled in our bodies. We could not die, even were we to ask for death. We lounge here in eternity, doing nothing but observe, while he… he accomplished so much, but would not live to see the fulfillment of his dreams. My beloved son…"

"_Would_ you ask for death, then?" Sapphire eyes peered calmly into his. "Would you make true your own order to him not to die before you? You know that we are eternal, but not truly 'immortal'. We can be killed. Would you have us kill one another, perform a final service as friends and former comrades?"

Kratos remained silent in thought. When he spoke again, his voice was but a breath barely carried on the still air. "I am still afraid of death, Yuan. I always have been – that is what made me chose this path. I had thought… that I could finally let go, but Lloyd convinced me otherwise. 'There is no meaning in dying,' he told me – told us all. 'You can _change_ things when you're alive.' And look… look who dies now…"

"Then live," the half-elven Seraphim said with a simple shrug. "Live and change the world. Carry on Lloyd's wishes – and Anna's. Make sure his efforts do not go to waste."

Wine-red eyes stared. "And how do you propose I go about _that_? Derris-Kharlan drifts on its own orbit, too far from the newly made Earth. (1) If I had stayed…" The angel sighed. "A second great mistake in this life… I should have stayed. The world would not so readily accept an angel of Cruxis, but they could learn, the same way they are doing with half-elves. And Lloyd… Lloyd would always have welcomed me." He looked away, seeming to talk more to himself than to his companion. "Lloyd, the last of my family…"

"Do you regret?"

"My life is built upon regrets. In a sense, this is… but one more…"

Yuan regarded him for a long time, a look of consideration apparent in his eyes. "Then let us go back."

A bitter laugh, cut short. "How?"

The half-elf gave the faintest hint of a mysterious smile, letting his discovery spill. "We are slowly approaching Earth. Not headed there, of course, but our orbits run close. I believe _this_ is how the Elves left Derris-Kharlan millennia ago. If we _do_ happen to be close enough… We could modify the escape pod system in Welgaia to transport us to Earth, and, specifically, to the Holy Grounds of Kharlan, where the Mana Tree rests."

Kratos frowned thoughtfully, running over the possibility in his mind before shaking his head. Hope that shone in his eyes moments ago turned to biting despair and surrender. "We have not the mana for that."

"We do!" his companion countered, holding out a hand and counting off a list on his fingers. "All the equipment in Welgaia still work; we could shut them down. There are three escape systems running; we need only one. _These_ surveying instruments use up more mana than anything else; we would need them no more. And finally… there is the mana left in our own bodies, and in the land itself." He hesitated, suddenly unsure of his plan, though he had thought it over time and time again, made sure it was infallible. "We would have but one chance to succeed. If we arrive at the Mana Tree, it would sustain and revitalize us. If we fail…"

He did not need to say more. The other angel understood. "If we fail, we die." There would be no more mana to support them, nor any left in their bodies to sustain life.

"I must see Lloyd." A strange sense of urgency filled Kratos's voice. "If you are willing to take this risk, then let us go. Perhaps it is time… to face all the mistakes I have made. To face my son… and tell him that he was always right."

The azure-haired half-elf nodded impassively, echoing Kratos's words. "Then let us go."

It took not even one week to set up the escape system. The wait for Derris-Kharlan to draw closer to Earth, however, frustrated the two Seraphim for more than a month. Having already shut down all other equipment on the planet, they had no way of finding out the newest events on their native world. And yet, what was a month to those who have lived more than five thousand years?

And so they waited, ready to spring the moment their chance came.

It was the 3rd of June, in the year 1302 of the Second Age. (2)

-----

_The 15th of July, in the year 1302 of the Second Age. Earth. The Holy Grounds of Kharlan._

The giant tree stood in the center of the clearing, its interwoven silver branches so tall as to seem like pillars for the very heavens. All those fortunate enough to view this sight were awed by its beauty. They did not know of the great tower that once resided there, built by ancient technology to reach its angel creators. They did not know of that tower's history of sacrifices, its tragedy finally ending by one brave, rag-tag band.

There was a small, neat row of graves at the base of this tree, Yggdrasill, the Tree of Life. (3) Seven they were in total, with a gap in the middle of the line, as if saving space for one more. Most of the names etched onto the stone that marked these unknown deaths were faint, leaving no more than a slight indent, an odd design or two that exhibited the carver's skill. Only two, yet unworn by the millennium the other marks suffered, could be deciphered:

_Raine Sage  
4507 First Age – 1289 Second Age  
A wonderful teacher  
A beloved sister  
A dear friend  
She will be missed_

_Genis Sage  
4518 First Age – 1301 Second Age  
A genius without limits  
A precious brother  
A treasured companion  
May he find peace_

Their names were strangers to the people's ears, the relieves of their faces in stone stirring only faint memories. The others had long passed out of even the most ancient recollection. Who now knew Colette Brunel, the Chosen willing to sacrifice all for the world? Who could recall Sheena Fujibayashi, the pure-hearted summoner of peace? Even the ladies did not know Zelos Wilder, the flirt hiding all the pain in the world behind his smiles. Though the Lezareno Company prospered, Regal Bryant was no more than just a name in a book of ancestries, his beloved Alicia recorded next to him by his request. Forgotten by her childhood friends even in her own time, Presea Combatir existed not even in legends.

None of them were made into song; tales even now still told only of the Ancient War, some 5000 years ago, and its great hero, Mithos. None were remembered, not even the "Angel-Child", Lloyd.

Lloyd.

Loyd Irving. Lloyd Aurion.

These names, at least, lay preserved – but only in brief sentences in the most obscure of textbooks that did not even know what he did. The "Angel-Child", they called him. No explanation was given as to _why_.

Currently, Lloyd lay in the grove of the Mana Tree, between the graves of his two closest friends. No tombstone would mark his passing, he knew. No one would hold him as he breathed his last. They were all gone. Such was the fate of the millennia-long life he had accepted.

Now marked by age, a white head where once sprouted glossy brown, the swordsman rested against the Tree of Life, feeling the mana flow through him, feeling it sustain him past his time. In his hands, he clutched the Eternal Sword, the blade of shimmering rainbows, the blade he had not used for more than a thousand years, the blade said to grant any wish.

He had but one.

"I summon thee…" his voice was old, soft, but still strong as his faltering grip tightened on the handle of the magical sword he could not lift, a ring on his finger. He had not married; that was the only ring he had ever worn, the Ring of the Pact, given to him by the father who gave him life and the father who raised him. "Source of Heaven, Earth, and everything in between, ruler of all… Come, Origin!" (4)

He did not know if it would work. He was no summoner. But it must… It _must_!

"Lloyd." The voice, seeming so far to his failing ears, made him sigh in relief. It had worked. "It has been long. What is your wish?"

Giving a futile tug on the Eternal Sword, the still crimson-clad man turned his unseeing eyes to the King of Summon Spirits. What was his wish? He had certainly thought about it often enough.

"Dad. Kratos. Let me meet Kratos again."

If spirits could shed tears, this one would. How was he to tell his heroic master that it was too late, that though the mercenary-Seraphim was coming, he would not arrive in time? How was he to deny the last wish of a pact-maker who had never broken his vow? He closed his eyes in grief, murmuring an unheard prayer to the Sword of Wishes, and to the Goddess Martel.

_Goddess Martel… Eternal Sword… Grant his wish, for I am powerless to do so…_

"Origin…?" Lloyd's voice floated towards the spirit, unsure, and Origin realized he had been silent for too long. The veteran swordsman could only track him by sound now.

"I am here, Lloyd. I apologize for the delay." The King of Summon Spirits hesitated. "It… shall be granted."

"Thank you." A grateful smile lifted the corners of the Angel-Child's lips.

A moment more, and Lloyd Irving was no more.

"He knew I lied…" Origin whispered, loud sounds now seeming like disrespect. "He knew as Dorr knew in Palmacosta, as all men knew in that clear moment before death. He wanted, as all men did, to see the one dearest to him… one more time…"

Bound by no more vows, the pact-maker dead, the Summon Spirit returned to the ether, mourning in silence, again biding his time in eternity.

-----

_The 20th of July, in the year 1302 of the Second Age. An escape capsule of magitechnology heading towards Earth._

"Thank goodness…" Yuan stood at the control panel of the escape pod, checking their status. "We now have more than sufficient mana to make it to the surface; no need now for second-guessing the gravitational pull of Earth. I am sorry I miscalculated as such."

His companion nodded, deep in thought. "It was fortunate indeed that there was such a large release of mana five days ago. Else, we may have crashed the way Lloyd and his group did, so long ago, into the Fooji Mountains. But we…" He smiled wryly. "…would have made a much larger explosion."

"Yes." The blue-haired man peered at the controls. "But I wonder what could have given such a large discharge of mana… And close enough to the Great Tree, too, that it would touch us."

"I am worried."

"Yes, but there is nothing we can do until we arrive."

The rest of the way passed in silence, in nervous anticipation. They had not had news from Earth for a month and a half now. What would they find? Who was still there that remembered the dark legacy of Cruxis and its angels?

The capsule landed near the grove of the Mana Tree sometime in the late evening of that day. The two Seraphim inside were torn by a painful curiosity about the world they betrayed and protected, and a deathly, unreasonable fear.

Kratos was worse off than his companion.

"If something happened to Lloyd; if I were too late, I…" The mercenary hesitated, not wanting to accept his own words, not daring to believe otherwise.

He could feel a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "Believe in him, Kratos, as you always have."

"Yes. Believe. I believe in Lloyd…"

It was a cruel trick of fate indeed to betray belief so harshly.

Holding tightly, desperately, onto a slim tendril of faith from times long gone, the auburn-haired man took tentative steps into the stone-encircled clearing where rested the Tree of Life. A figure in red caught his eyes, and, too soon, he breathed a sigh of relief, rushing over with such urgency he had never had before. But all the speed in the world could not help him now. This venture was destined to fail from the start.

"N-no!"

Yuan's head jerked up in startled bewilderment at his companion's cry. He hesitated beyond the boundary of the clearing, unsure. On the one hand, he was indefinitely worried about his friend, yet, on the other hand, it was a moment of such privacy that he dared not intrude. And who knew, perhaps he feared what he would find there.

He did not move.

It was long before Kratos exited the grove, silent, his face suddenly much older than the twenty-eight years his body had aged. He gave no explanation as he sat down on a boulder next to the other Seraphim, his expression tightly drawn, as if in pain. There were no tears evident in his eyes, but they were tinged with perhaps a bit too much crimson, ringed by perhaps slightly too-dark rouge.

Yuan did not ask. It seemed sacrilege of the somber morning hanging in the air. A leaden weight.

"Lloyd is…" A quiver shook the mercenary's normally-controlled voice, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "Lloyd is dead."

It was not a possibility they had not considered; in fact, both of them discussed the high likelihood of that event. But not one was willing to admit to himself that the idea, that the concept of _Lloyd_ – friend, ally, and enemy all at one point or another – could be dead.

Lloyd, dead!

Lloyd, gone…

Kratos had not wanted to say it. Without giving it words, without placing "concept" in "reality", it seemed almost as if it did not happen. He needed that confirmation of words; he had confirmed his own worst nightmare.

"I… see." The azure-haired man did not quite know what to do, what to give. Sympathy? What of that could he offer to a bond he did not understand? Supplication? To whom, to what? To grant Kratos's unspoken, impossible wish? Oh, what bitterness was here, what cruelty visited upon one who had already suffered much.

Sighing, the half-elf did the one thing he _could_ do and wrapped his arms around the other's shoulders, sharing one moment of intimate comfort with one who was once a friend. They knew now whose immense mana allowed them to reach Earth. It brought no mirth to this irony.

"…Told him… not to die before me…"

Pushing away, the human-Seraphim struggled to his feet, stumbling back towards his son's body, shrugging off the other's aid. "I am… going to give him a proper burial…"

"Do you want me to help?" It was an offer out of politesse alone; Yuan knew well enough that the mercenary wished to be alone with his grief.

"…No." Regaining his composure, at least outwardly, Kratos disappeared again into the circle of stones.

-----

"Ugh…" Sky blue eyes opened hazily unto much-too-bright sunshine, to an environment much too green. One comment, thoroughly confused, slipped out. "This is not Derris-Kharlan…" (5)

It took a while for the half-elven Seraphim to regain his bearings. Now he remembered. He had left Derris-Kharlan with Kratos more than a week ago, arriving on Earth the evening before and discovering… Lloyd's death.

"Kratos?" There was no answer, and the blue-haired angel mentally cursed himself. He, a _Seraphim_, actually fell _asleep_ the previous night! And, seeing no bedroll beside him and their provisions undisturbed, he knew the other had not returned. Perhaps Kratos spent the entire night with the eight heroes in the grove, those who gave their all to fulfill a dream, leaving behind no legacy. They were, after all, his only true friends, the only people he had ever loved.

_What is our purpose now?_ The question came suddenly to Yuan's mind. They had both come to Earth to ask sanctuary of Lloyd, to join his behind-the-scenes battle against the discrimination still so glaringly apparent. But now, Lloyd was…

A soft whine alerted the half-elf to the presence of another. He turned, and his face lit in open delight at an ancient and faithful companion.

"Noishe!" Letting a rare laugh escape his throat, Yuan knelt to give the last – and furry – member of their little group a heartfelt hug and rub.

"You are still here, old friend?" He hesitated. "But… what is wrong?"

Another whine was his answer, as the Arshi (6) grabbed his sleeve and tugged, careful not to rip the fabric.

The angel peered in the direction and frowned. "You… want me to go to the Mana Tree?" An affirmative howl answered his question. "But Kratos…"

Noishe would have none of that, and gave a stronger pull.

Sighing in defeat, Yuan followed him into the grove, dragging his feet. He did not want to see his mourning friend, not just yet.

Surprisingly, he did not.

"…What?" It took the angel a moment to process this new information, and he rubbed his eyes, as a human youth would do, and peered at the Tree again. No Seraphim there, just a neat row of eight graves, one freshly dug – presumably Lloyd's.

The half-elf stepped closer, trying to read the newly-raised gravestone, his curiosity overcoming his initial inhibition. Just what did Kratos have to say about his long-lost son?

Lloyd's gravestone was not as refined as the others. It stood to reason; the younger swordsman was dwarven-trained, not the older. Yet, it was formed by magic, cut unnatural wind, shaped by summoned stone. It held a rugged quality of nature's element, a wild beauty. Words were burned on with such precision, such attention to detail that Yuan had barely believed possible. No expenses were spared, so to speak. Nothing but the _best_ magical work of Kratos was this.

_Lloyd Irving Aurion  
4513 First Age – 1302 Second Age  
A warrior without equal  
A hero never surrendered  
A dearly-loved friend  
A precious, irreplaceable son  
May your spirit forever shine  
May your dreams of harmony ring true  
May your efforts ever be fruitful  
Be at peace_

It would bring a tear to those who knew them.

"Kratos?" the Seraphim called tentatively. Somehow, he knew that he would receive no answer. Now he knew why Noishe was so restless. After all, the mercenary was always the Arshi's favourite owner. If he had disappeared…

"You would not find him here… Yuan."

"What?" Spinning and drawing his sword after millennia of training, the half-elf found himself face-to-face with…

"M… Martel?!"

"Yes, it is I." Indeed, standing there was the verdant-clad Goddess, serene… but sorrowful. "Not entirely the same Martel you used to travel with, but Martel all the same." Tears glimmered unshed in her gentle eyes. "The… whole group has broken, has it now? I have been restored to my _true_ form. My 'brother' is dead, to… pay for all that he had done. You are the last, for—"

"What about Kra—"

"For Kratos… is gone… from this time."

A moment of shocked silence, then… "Gone? What… what do you mean…?"

"He has gone to join his son… as both of them wished." Finally, a tear wended down her cheek. "At last…"

Yuan was alarmed. "_Kratos_ is _dead_?!" He did not know what to make of that, what to do.

The _only_ other like him, dead!

Perhaps it was cold to think that, to worry that he was alone, but were all people not naturally selfish? But he mourned, he mourned. Kratos was his friend, though they were somewhat less than attached, and they had spent a millennium together. It somehow did not seem… real. It was as if he would wake in his bed at Derris-Kharlan any second now.

"No, not… dead… as you would put it."

"No?"

"But…" Still, Martel could not reassure him as he wished. "He is not alive either, not as you are, not even as I am."

"Then… what?" He was sick of this riddle. He wanted a straight answer, _now_.

"In another thousand years, he will return." A soft, sad smile flitted on the Goddess's lips. "And… as the world rolls again in turmoil, so again will the young hero Lloyd. Will you… live and watch this drama unfold again?"

"What?! Why would you…?!" The Seraphim turned away in disgust. "Martel… no, my Goddess… let me be frank on this one occasion. _Why_ would you force them to suffer that life again? Neither Kratos nor Lloyd… nor the rest of their companions… are suffering anymore. Why would you not let them rest, as they deserve? Tell some _other_ heroes to take up the torch!"

"And you want to join them, do you not?"

The soft-spoken question caught him by surprise. "I… no, I…"

She continued as if the interruption had never occurred. "If that is your wish, I can grant it… but it was not theirs. They – all of them, but Kratos and young Lloyd in particular – wanted nothing more than to meet again, to be with each other again. They did not want eternal rest, but a chance to try again, to correct past faults, to make it through this time with no regrets."

"With… no regrets?" Yuan could not blame them for wanting that. Yet… how could it be possible? Could every decision really be remade, every mistake corrected? With no memories of the past, guided only by their instincts and "souls", if they could be called that, who could say that they would not make the _same_ choices? History repeated itself; it always did. Only with knowledge could one prevent it.

That knowledge, they were not going to receive. The azure-haired angel understood his Goddess's intentions, and he knew that nowhere in those intentions was she going to let them _continue_ their lives.

Starting anew meant _starting anew_.

"They will find a way." A faint smile lifted the corners of the Goddess's lips as she answered, seeming to hear his silent arguments. "They always did before, whatever the situation. Have some faith in them, Yuan. They have won the Eternal Sword from Mithos. They have defeated him, the twisted once-hero. They have restored the world… and the tree of the Great Seed. Do you not see? They have done what was thought impossible!"

"But they are still the same."

Martel's head tilted in a small nod. "Yes, they are still the same. They will _always_ be the same."

"Then what's to say the same would not occur again?!" the Seraphim demanded, forgetting, for a moment, to whom he spoke. "Their decisions would always be the same!"

The verdant head tilted again, though this time to the side. "They _would_ make the same decisions for the _same_ situations. But what is to say that everything would be as they were more than a thousand years ago? A remember… that not all choices were made badly. The world is whole and at peace _because_ of what they did. They would need to win that battle again, when the time comes."

Cerulean eyes closed momentarily in thought. When they opened again, there lay a light of weary determination. "A thousand years from now, my Goddess? A thousand years, and Kratos will again start the cycle…" He looked away from her, turning his gaze back to the giant tree that stretched to the heavens, the row of graves before it marking the passing of the world's unknown saviors.

"Yes." Though Martel's voice was behind him, Yuan did not turn. "Would you like to join them?"

It was a good, tempting offer. A chance to start over again, a chance to be rid of this gift and curse of the angels. The half-elven Seraphim considered it for a long time, though there could only be one answer. "No. I will _correct_ my mistakes with my own hands. I will wait for them, and this time, I will accomplish what Kratos and I failed at before – protect you and keep Mithos… sane."

"Then best of luck to you, Yuan." Was her tone slightly mocking? Was her voice resigned? He could not tell as he walked away.

Alone in the meadow surrounding the Tree of Life was the green-haired Goddess. Ten had come to her, and only one walked away alive. Eight graves marked there the nine deaths; Kratos left no body to bury, no evidence of existence… safe a curled-up feather, delicate in its sapphire shimmer as a bluebird's fledge.

The night before, the Seraphim had come, trembling in his silence, to the body of his only son. The night of a new moon it was, and the stars could not cast their lights beyond the branches of the Tree Yggdrasill. There was no glow from the Tree; the nature itself rendered the mercenary's adornments into mourning black. In the shadows, his fiery hair lay calm, could not catch the blaze of light. No tears glimmered; there was not enough light. The dead of night reigned; the dead did not wake.

A pact had been made, the last pact of this era, between angel and Goddess. A humble beseeching, a first and last lapse of pride, made for the most treasured one. A grave built before the silent, emerald watcher, the last contribution from an ancient hero.

Kratos bowed his head. "Let me join him."

A soft blue feather, of angel wings and indigo sky, made his grave.

Slowly, it drifted, until it touched the earth in front of Lloyd's resting place. Lloyd Irving, Lloyd Aurion. No flowers bloomed for him; the earth was still freshly-dug. What marked his passing was, instead, a drop of an angel's life.

"It shall be granted."

-----

Notes:

1) I'm assuming the world composed of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla was, indeed, Earth. It _looked_ like Earth…

2) Well… The dates are completely made up. ; But I assumed that they would probably start a "second age" shortly after Mithos was defeated. Aaaand, I'm too lazy to make up month names, and I believe it would be better for everyone to judge the time if I just used normal dates.

3) Yes… My friend and I finally decided that the tree probably got named Yggdrasill, firstly as a tribute to Mithos, and secondly because "Yggdrasill" really _is_ the name of the "Tree of Life" in Norse mythology, upon which many of the names were based.

4) I know those are slightly different from the words that Sheena use to summon Origin, and I know Lloyd isn't a summoner, but… Well, he _is_ the one with the pact, not Sheena, hai? And I think of this as more of a formal call to Origin, not an actual summon.

5) I know they usually _don't_ sleep, but I'm assuming even the Seraphim _can_ sleep… I mean, they can eat, right? And even if they don't need sleep, they still _do_ need to rest once in a while, I think…

6) I believe the Elven children said that Noishe's dog-form was called an "Arshi", hai…? I might have remembered wrong…

-----

Let me just say first of all that if it's a flame because of the Kratos/Lloyd pairing, you're not the first one, and you're probably not going to be very original either. If it's comments, criticism, or even ::gasps:: compliments, it's very welcome indeed.


	2. Your Destiny Awakened

Wowie, 'nother chappy of this out. I'm… working on the other stuff, really. I'm just… extremely lazy.

Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! I luff you all! (…I think?)

Hmm… Now…

Disclaimer: I don't own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters.

Let's see, what else…?

1, the next few chappys will be mostly Kratos-centric.

2, this ficcy's dedicated to Kukki-chan.

3, …There is no 3.

On to the fic!

…Your Destiny Awakened

Dearest Father, Mother,  
I am coming home.  
I wanted to break that news, the happiest matter, to you early, before I tell you of other matters. Do not worry for me, for I am well; I have only good fortune to report with this letter.  
You may have noticed the package I have sent with this letter. If you have not yet received it, it should arrive soon. In it, I have included thick fabrics and warm blankets to help you through the winter. Also, at the bottom of the pack, there is a wallet with 5000 gald. Please use that as you will. I have had a job guarding a wealthy merchant, and have another on the way, so I am not short on gald, and will bring you more later, when I return, as well as fresh herbs for any illness going around the village.  
Wait for me, Father, Mother. I will be back by Yuletide. (1)  
With love,  
Kratos

_The 19th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age.__ Meltokio, the capital city of the __kingdom__ of __Tethe'alla_ (2)

An auburn-haired mercenary strolled down the cobblestone streets of Meltokio, a letter in his hand, a rather large parcel tucked under one arm. A soft smile played on his lips as he watched gaggles of children play on the sidewalks, away from the carriage paths. Even at this time, a month before the festivals of Yuletide, lights were already hanging from roof awnings and twined around lampposts. It gave the city a cheerful, welcoming glow, though it would still be a while before the stream of tourists arrived.

"Ah, Kratos!"

The mercenary turned; it was his previous employer.

"Thank you again for doing this job. I don't know what we would have done, had we had to come all this way without a bodyguard." The merchant shook his head ruefully at the thought, then sighed, though whether in relief or something else, no one could tell. "You will be ready to accompany my brother's family back to Sylvarant tomorrow, will you not?"

Kratos nodded slightly. "Yes."

"Good, good. We know you will do a good job." With a wave of farewell, the merchant winked conspicuously. "And you will, of course, be paid handsomely."

"Of course," was the mercenary's answer, spoken in a non-committal tone. Did these people think to bribe him with money? He had a greater pride than to scamper after rich merchants. Though, he supposed, as the came, this one was not too bad. Still, his main reason for guarding the brother's family was because they really _would_ need it. They had two children, of ages 11 and 17, of whom he thought may be half-elves. Most people now, of course, would leave them alone, but there was still talk of half-elves as the "forbidden" or "taboo" children", and they had, in general, a much lower social standing than humans and the occasional elf.

Mithos. That was the name of the younger child, the son. Kratos had met him the previous day, though he had not yet seen the older sister. The young boy was bright-eyed and intelligent, showing much promise of becoming a very successful mercenary, should he choose that path. Already, he had asked Kratos to teach him the way of the sword, but at the boy's father's disapproving nod, the auburn-haired mercenary had refused. The child would grow to inherit his father's business, would become a merchant. It was just as well. Rumours had the kings of Sylvarant and Tethe'alla massing for war. The less fighters available, the less destruction would occur.

Yes, better the boy went back to his books and scrolls, better he went back to his readings of the Hero Mithos, his ancient namesake.

Soon, Kratos came to a large building near Castle Tethe'alla. In fact, it was the largest there save for the castle itself. A plaque outside proclaimed this to have been the "Chosen's House". However, like many archaic terms and titles, "Chosen" was not explained.

This building was now the combined bank and postal office of Meltokio, and the mercenary's destination.

Kratos mailed his letter and package. To "Lord and Lady Aurion of Luin", it was addressed. Of course, his elderly parents were no such thing, only the owners of a plain shop, but the upper-class of Meltokio looked down upon, and sometimes refused to have any dealings with, the simpler folk. The auburn-haired mercenary had little choice but to give them a higher title.

Having done what he needed to, he retired to an inn for a hot meal and a comfortable bed. It was true that it was only early evening and the sky still held a few tints of light, but the mercenary had already completed all his business in the city – shopping for weapons and supplies, and finding a new assignment. And besides, he seemed to be the only bodyguard the merchant was hiring, having been highly recommended by his previous employer. It meant the payment would be through the roof, but he would probably not see rest for a few days, or even up to a week, depending on _where_ in Sylvarant they were heading. He was, of course, used to it, but such exhaustion may still affect his reflexes.

Deep asleep, Kratos was not aware as a boy of 11, bent over an ancient scroll by the light of a candle, smiled. As hair of pale gold brushed the dark words, two pale blue eyes gleamed in the darkness.

_The 20th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age.__ The gates of Meltokio._

"Really, Father? _Kratos_ is coming with us? He's going to protect us?" Mithos grinned happily, fiddling with his hands, shuffling his feet. "I bet he'll do a _much_ better job than those people before. He'll keep us safe."

"I should hope so!" the merchant declared indignantly. "We're certainly _paying_ him enough. He had better earn his worth."

Behind his father's back, the boy sneered angrily at his disrespect. He would have spoken up if not for the hand on his shoulder, beseeching him to calm down. He turned to see his older sister looking at him warningly. That had been a surprise in itself, for she rarely left their caravan wagon.

"Martel?" His father's actions forgotten, Mithos turned his full attention to his sister. "What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to stay in the wagon? The men might bother you again, if they see you!"

The woman shook her head. "It's okay, Mithos. I want to see the city one more time before we leave, even if my memories of it are not the greatest. And besides…" She offered him a small smile. "I know you'll protect me."

"Yeah!" The golden-haired boy nodded enthusiastically. "If they come near you again, I'll burn them to a crisp!"

"Shhhhh…" Martel placed a finger on his lips. "Not so loud, and no magic, Mithos. We can't let them find out what we are."

The younger child looked down, kicking the dirt underfoot. "I know, I know. But it's not fair!" Suddenly, he looked up, and his normally-clear eyes were filed with anger, though his voice was still a low hiss. "We are all born the same; we're _better_ than the humans, even – smarter, and we have magic! So why should we be treated as if we're less? They respect the elves, so why not us?"

"I don't know." Martel, pale, jade-green eyes sad, hugged her brother soothingly. "I don't know, but I want it to change. And Mithos, it _will_ change someday, and _we_ need to _make_ that change ourselves. That is my wish… To have a world where humans, elves, and all those caught in between could live in harmony. _That_ would be our world."

The small, sun-kissed head nodded in determination. "I'll give you that world, Martel. I'll do anything… whatever it takes to create such a world."

"Thank you." Though she offered him a smile, the verdant-haired girl looked distracted. Her gaze was on someone far in the distance, coming down the main street of Meltokio towards them. "Mithos, that man… why is he…"

"Hmm?" Mithos squinted, trying to make out the figure. He was tall – Mithos was pretty sure it was a man – and walked with a firm, flowing stride. His supple body was covered in dark cobalt, and a mane of red-golden chestnut sprouted from his head, seemingly ablaze in the morning sun.

The boy smiled brightly. He knew who _this_ was. "Oh, that's Kratos! He's the mercenary Father hired to protect us on the way home. He seems really serious, but he's really nice, and really strong!" He grinned from ear to ear. "I even asked him to teach me swordsmanship. But…" The boy made a face. "Father wouldn't let him, though. But when I'm older, I'm going to leave Father, and I'll seek out Kratos and get him to teach me. And _then_, I'll be able to protect you, and I'll live up to my name."

Martel smiled softly, sadly. It would never happen, but she would not, could not deny her brother his dream. He felt, at times, like the only family she had. Their mother had died giving birth to him, and their father drew farther and farther away from them. Sometimes, it seemed that he viewed Mithos only as an heir he must raise, and Martel as a free babysitter. Though the difference in their ages was not too big, they often felt like mother and son.

Kratos had almost reached them now, and he lifted a hand slightly in polite greeting.

"There you are!" The merchant rushed over, blatantly checking a pocket-watch with a gold chain. "Good, you're on time."

The mercenary did not flinch from the not-so-subtly disguised insult, but when he spoke, his voice was cold and laced with barely-veiled distaste. "Yes, and I am glad that you are as well." He paused, but not long enough to give time for a response. "Are all of you ready? Are your businesses done? Would you like to leave now, or…" He paused again, just slightly. "…shall we wait out the five minutes before my assigned time?"

"We… we will leave now." The merchant abruptly spun around and headed towards his wagon, his face crimson. He could say nothing against the younger man, with his expression of cool innocence and voice of aloof mockery. For all he knew, Kratos could claim sincere questioning.

"Father said to give this to you," a small voice piped at the mercenary's side. "He said it's half of your pay, and that you'll get the other half after you finish."

"Thank you, Mithos." The auburn-haired man offered him a smile. The children, at least, were not so corrupt as their father. Curiously, he looked towards the girl standing to the side of and a few paces behind the young boy. "And you are, miss…?"

"I am Martel." She introduced herself shyly. "I am… Mithos's older sister." For a moment, she hesitated, and a small blush covered her cheeks. "Thank you for agreeing to this, and for acting kindly towards my brother. Please forgive our father. He is, quite frankly, blinded by the power of money and thinks one could buy the world. He treats us no differently."

"I see. Mithos and Martel, named after the Hero and the Goddess…"

Kratos could not understand how a child could speak of her own father so harshly and disinterestedly, but then, he had never had a family like that. He was infinitely thankful for his parents, for the elderly couple who had found him on their doorstep and raised him, though they certainly did not have the money to spare. They called him a gift from the Goddess and gave him everything they had, and finally, when he was old enough, he began to travel and work as a mercenary to give back what he could. It was rare now that he had a chance to return home, and he treasured this year's Yuletide.

Finally, he was going home. Finally, he would see his family again.

The day passed without much event, as Kratos traveled with the rich merchant family. A few small bands of bandits crossed their paths, but they were soon discouraged and ran with all they had. To warn others, no doubt, for after a few hours of random pestering, there was no more trouble. Kratos was glad. It would be some time before he would have a chance to rest again, and, as the merchant did not tell him their destination, he could only assume the worst and prepare himself for the longest journey possible. It was not an efficient way to work, but, as the employee, he had no right to glean information his employer would not give. Perhaps the merchant would tell him that night though he did not have much hope of that. The children, then. Maybe they would let it slip. He did not like to have to work in this way, but it would be too difficult, and not nearly effective enough, if he did not.

Finally, as the sun sunk beneath the horizon and shadows loomed from trees and rocks, the merchant – he still did not bother giving Kratos his name – declared that they would stop for the night.

Mithos jumped out of the wagon gratefully and stretched, smiling as he felt the solid, steady ground under his feet. As his sister's pale head poked out, he ran over to help her get off. Both children, traveling so much with their father, were used to the long hours spent shut in that wagon, but that did not mean they enjoyed it. They much preferred the freedom outside.

Leaning against a tree, his arms crossed casually over his chest, the mercenary smiled. How innocent they were, kept away from the poisonous influence of the outside world. How naïve, how idealistic. He was glad; there were so few people left like that.

"Kratos? Why don't you join us for dinner?"

The auburn-haired man looked towards the voice, and was greeted by a brilliant smile.

When Mithos saw that he had the mercenary's attention, he went over and tugged on his arm. "Come on Kratos. Eat dinner with us! Even Father said it was okay, because we have a _lot_ of food and you would need your strength."

Kratos considered this proposal for a moment. It was the first act of kindness his employer had shown, thought it was more than likely for his own benefits. If his guard was too hungry or too tired, he would not be able to perform well.

_Good_, Kratos thought. _At least the man had that much sense._

There was no point in declining the invitation. "Thank you. I will be there momentarily."

Dinner was a simple meal of baked potatoes, seasoned and prepared by Martel. As the companions ate, they began to talk. Rather, _Mithos_ began to talk; the merchant had long ago finished and left to catalogue his wares, Martel was sitting near the campfire, quietly washing and mending torn clothes, and Kratos was content to just listen and answer the occasional question.

"So where are you from, Kratos?" The golden-haired boy tilted his head curiously.

"…Luin."

"Oh!" The boy grinned, and bounced from his seated position. "We're going to Luin too! Well, kind of. We'll be passing by, anyway. We'll probably stop in lots of different towns, so we can sell our stuff. We're going to Sybak right now, but I guess you know that already. We'll stop there for a few hours and leave, and camp outside the Gaoracchia Forest tomorrow. Father said he was scared of the 'Forest of Death', but I'm not, because _you're_ with us. After that, we'll stay at Ozette (3) for the night – and Father's going to give you a room at the inn, too – and cross into Sylvarant the next day." (4) He paused for a moment to regain his breath. "We'll sell the stuff at Hima, and hurry on. We'll sell things in Luin too, and I think I can convince Father to let us stay there overnight. After that, we'll continue to Asgard, camp out after the Harkonesian Peaks, and rest at Palmacosta (5) the next day. Then, we'll take a ship across the sea, rest at Izoold, go over to Triet and sleep there, and finally, we'll go to Iselia. Father said he would pay for all your food and lodging, and the last one would be when you're _in_ Iselia, and then he'll give you the rest of your payment, and that's when your service ends."

"I see." The mercenary was silent as he digested and recorded the information in his head. So, if the going was smooth, he would be able to reach his home in four days, though he suspected it would still be some weeks yet before he could truly return for Yultide, before he would be able to stay there and settle down for a while. "Thank you, Mithos. And your father is… quite generous in his payment."

Mithos smiled up happily. "It's no problem, really. I'm just glad I can help. And father said that he hired enough mercenaries before to know that they – you – need food and rest and stuff to be able to protect us well."

He was interrupted as a voice called his name softly. "Mithos, it's getting late. Father is finishing up, and we should go to bed. You mustn't bother Kratos anymore tonight. It's dark and he needs to concentrate more."

"Oh!" The boy looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry, Kratos. I didn't mean to be a bother."

Kratos shook his head and offered a small smile. "It's all right. Go to bed now. You need your rest. Your information has been very helpful, Mithos. Thank you."

"Really?" Immediately, he brightened.

"Yes, really."

_The 24th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age.__ The Mana Tree Grove._

The graves were almost as he remembered, though a bit more worn, a bit more washed by the tides of time. Not much could be seen on them. The deepest cuts were shallow now, the rest already gone. Only one stone marker could still be read.

"Lloyd Aurion." Kratos mouthed the name etched in the stone; the rest was unreadable. They had the same family name. Was he a great hero of old? But he was not in any story; there were only the Hero Mithos and the Goddess Martel. Each time the mercenary passed by the grove on his travels and jobs, he remembered the old legends, wondered at the ones that were not told.

Right now, he had some free time, as the merchant transported his goods to Hima via dragons. The children were still asleep the last time he checked; it was still early in the morning. He would not be needed until noon. After that, they would start out towards Luin.

"The tree's name's Yggdrasill," a voice commented behind him. "I read it in one of the old scrolls. It was named after Mithos Yggdrasill – Mithos the Hero. Lloyd Aurion… it is not clear who he is. All I know is that he's another hero from another time, who accomplished… _something_… on the scale of Mithos, but never recorded. He is also known as 'Lloyd Irving,' the 'Angel Child.' I don't know which is his real name, or what he _really_ did, though."

"Thank you, Mithos." Kratos did not have to turn to figure out who was talking. "Those must be very old scrolls that you have."

"Uh-huh." The boy grinned. "I found them in Father's junk pile. No one cares much about old myths anymore, so they're not worth much, but _I_ find them interesting. The oldest one about the 'Lloyd' person that I can still read is dated a little more than 500 years ago! I think some of them are even older, but they're falling apart. It's funny, though, 'cause the _Mithos_ books and scrolls are really nice and preserved and stuff. I guess people think he's more important than the Lloyd person…"

"Hm. I suppose." The mercenary stared at the tree, seemingly transfixed. "He is, after all, the one who stopped the Ancient War. Although… nothing I found explained _how_. I am curious about that, and about that Lloyd… Aurion."

For a moment, the golden-haired boy tilted his head, before realization dawned. "Oh, that's right. _Your_ family name's 'Aurion' too! Do you think he might be your ancestor?"

"…No." Kratos looked away from the Mana Tree, finally turning to his young charge. "Even were he my family's ancestor, he would not be mine. I… am not born from them, but found and raised. I am glad. They are good people."

"I wish someone found _me_ when I was little…" Cerulean eyes stared at the ground as bitterness crept into Mithos's voice, and perhaps a hint of jealousy. "There is nothing _this_ family can offer me, except half-ruined books that I have to hunt down myself!"

"What about your sister, then?" the older man inquired softly. "She's your family too, isn't she…? Would you be happy away from her?"

"But if I never knew her, then I wouldn't be upset without her!" A determined pout sat on the boy's lips. "I wish it were all different. If only I weren't born, or if I were somewhere else, I wouldn't be stuck with _this_, and she wouldn't be so busy looking after me! Why were people like us born? Why would our parents keep…"

"People like you?" Kratos asked softly.

"Ah…" The boy looked up, startled and apparently back to his normal self, offering a disarming smile. "I'm sorry. I was just rambling. It's nothing important, really."

"…" As Mithos made a hasty retreat back to the wagon, the mercenary turned back to the Tree of Life. "…Yggdrasill, huh…"

_The 25th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age.__ Luin, the City of __Rebirth_

It was the end of a long and tiring day. The merchant's wagon caravan had rolled into Luin around mid-afternoon, and all four occupants spent hours selling wares, including the children and Kratos, who helped out, mostly by organizing and finding items for the merchant. Finally, after the sun had gone down, activities started to slow, and, after a while, cease. By then, Mithos was already half-asleep, resting his head on Martel's lap. Though she would not admit it, the girl was not much better off. After sending both of them to bed, the merchant grudgingly gave leave to Kratos to visit his family, with a warning that they were to meet at the south end of Luin at noon.

"…Very well." Languidly and deliberately, the mercenary stood, keeping a mask of unhurried dignity, though he wanted nothing more than to dash to his house. Slowly, he stretched and began down the path to the weapons shop, giving all the air and appearance of one taking an evening stroll.

The door of the shop was shut, a "closed" sign over it. For a second, Kratos hesitated, wondering whether or not he should head to the house. But it was still early, and the weapons shop lights were on; his parents were probably cleaning up.

Kratos knocked.

"We're closed!" a gruff voice called from within, followed by the thump of metal hitting cement and a muted curse. "Come back tomorrow!"

"I won't be here tomorrow," the mercenary answered softly.

There was a pause within; the auburn-haired man could imagine his father blinking in surprise. After a while, he spoke.

"Kratos?"

"…Yes, Father. I'm home… for now."

The door flew open and the young mercenary was quickly ushered in. For a moment, father and son could only look at each other, each noticing new lines of age on the other's visage, new signs of care not there before.

"Father…" Kratos hesitated, cleared his throat, and spoke again with as much of his practiced calm as he could muster. "I trust that you and Mother are well? Did you receive my letter and package? Is everything going smoothly?"

The old weapons smith laughed, and it seemed to wash away all the weary tenseness. "You are acting like a mother hen, my son. Don't you worry; there is life and strength in these old bones yet! Yes, we are well. Yes, we received both letter and package, and thank you dearly for them. I know how hard it is for you. And yes, everything is going smoothly."

The younger man slumped in relief, chuckling slightly in embarrassment. "I am glad." Without seeming to move, his eyes searched the room. "Ah, where…"

"Your mother has gone for bed. She has… a slight bit of a cold, nothing to be worried about."

"I see."

Father and son worked in silence. There was nothing more to be said. They were going down different paths now, though parental affection was as strong as ever. Just seeing, just knowing that all was well was enough.

For once in a long time, the shop was clean. It seemed almost unreal for Kratos, how beautiful it could be. The polished wooden walls shimmered gold in the soft glow of the candle-flames, a warm contrast to the cold glint of metals; of gleaming blades and sparkling, bejewelled handles often set with a large gem on the pommel; of round, lacquered shields in bright explosions of colours; even of the dying embers in a small stove for customizations, casting a dim red glow upon everything, the glow of crimson twilight.

"And now, for some rest."

Slowly, they made their way to their house, careful as they climbed the rickety stairs that creaked at times. It would not do to wake Kratos's aged mother. There would be time enough the next day to greet her.

_The 28th of November, in the year 2327 of the Second Age.__ Luin._

It was half past ten before Kratos stepped out of his house, his worried mother shoving food items into his hands. The old weapons smith was at the store already, towards which Kratos was heading.

"Mother, really, I'm fine. They're not starving me. Please, keep the food. You would need it more than me."

The old woman shook her head and brushed a wisp of grey hair behind her ear. "You need your strength, son. You have to fight all the time, you don't eat regularly…"

The mercenary gently pushed the food back. "Mother, I am used to it. I _have _to be used to it. If… you want to think about it as a matter of practicality, take the example that I am perhaps in a battle in a land plagued by famine. Were I to be expecting food, Mother, I would mostly likely faint and be killed."

The woman sighed. "…I know."

"…" The mercenary looked away, uncomfortable. "…I'm sorry, Mother. I appreciate the sentiment."

Through the passive, pre-noon activities Kratos walked, taking in the sight of the city in which he grew up. Everything was as he remembered; there was the items shop, the small town hall and church, the inn, his family's weapons shop… even the three unrecognizable statues strewn around town.

It was not long before someone fell into step beside him.

"Where are you going, Kratos?" Mithos asked curiously. "Can I come along?"

The older man offered a small smile. "Of course. Do you want me to show you around?" He could always go to the weapons shop later.

"Thank you, but don't worry, I went around already," Mithos told him. "But can you come to the fountain with me? I want to show you something." Absently, he fingered a scroll held in his small hands.

"Hmmm? Sure."

When the two arrived at their destination, Mithos unfurled his scroll and held it up, presenting it beside the statue at the center of the fountain. "See, Kratos? They match! He's the one in the statue!"

The mercenary gave a small nod, his interest piqued. "And who was he?"

Smiling azure eyes lit up as the boy proudly announced his discovery. "He is… Lloyd Irving, aka Lloyd Aurion."

"Oh?" Deep garnet eyes widened considerably. Kratos studied the faded picture on the old, worn scroll. The colours have almost all washed to a light tan by then, but he could still dimly pick out the crimson of the shirt, the ebony of the pants. Hair, only a shade darker than the parchment itself now, formed a makeshift crown on the figure's head. Subconsciously, Kratos fingered his own hair. They may have been similar in colour, though he could not tell for sure now.

"I wonder if your family really _is _descended from his…" Mithos murmured softly, tilting his head.

_And _I_ wonder,_ the mercenary thought to himself, _why, each time I walk by, he stirs up such fleeting memories!_

1) If I remember right, Yuletide is basically a kind of Christmas-ish type of celebration. Kinda like a big winter celebration thing.

2) Now, if anyone actually paid attention to the dates, you would be able to figure out how old Kratos is right now. For those of you not wishing to do math, he's 25. XD

3) I'm too lazy to make up new town names, so please assume Ozette was rebuilt and give the same name.

4) Yeah… I'm assuming that since the Tower of Salvation was described as being in the center of both Sylvarant and Tethe'alla, that's where the worlds will be joined.

5) …Assume Palmacosta was rebuilt too. XD


End file.
